


Family Matters

by Myrime



Series: Family Matters [1]
Category: Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Alcohol, College, Don't copy to another site, Family, First Aid, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whumpotber, whump tony stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27435247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: Rhodey has come home to a lot of strange sights since moving in with Tony, but the smeared, red handprint just inside their entrance door makes his heart stop. He stares at it for a long second before his mind suggests helpfully that this looks an awful lot like blood.A few panicked moments later, finds Tony in the bathtub, naked from the waist up, a bottle of cheap whiskey in his hand, and with blood on his face and chest.“Rhodey,” Tony coos and smiles, wincing when that tugs at a cut in his lip. “You’re home.”
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark
Series: Family Matters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2054574
Comments: 15
Kudos: 146





	Family Matters

**Author's Note:**

> A late entry for Whumptober. But there's never enough of H/C right?
> 
> Enjoy!

Rhodey has come home to a lot of strange sights since moving in with Tony – the most memorable one being an all-out Roomba war who seemed to play Capture the Flag with a pair of Captain America briefs – but the smeared, red handprint just inside their entrance door makes his heart stop. He stares at it for a long second before his mind suggests helpfully that this looks an awful lot like blood.

“Tony?” Rhodey calls out without an ounce of self-preservation and moves into their flat, his hand hovering over his hip although they are not allowed to take their guns off the range.

During some dark, drunken night, Tony has told him about some of the kidnappings, about the desperate and the dangerous hoping for a handsome reward or some revenge by picking Howard Stark’s son off the street. Tony also told him about Howard’s constant refusal to pay, as if his own child’s life is worth nothing.

They have been friends for just over a year, but Rhodey is already certain that he would not leave a single stone unturned to find Tony. He would pay any ransom to get his best friend back.

Tony is not supposed to be here, though. This morning, he left to meet his parents who are in town for a few days. That is never a good thing in its own right, but it should not end with blood on their wall.

Still without a thought for his own safety, Rhodey storms in, his heart stopping a beat when the flat is empty at first glance.

“Tony,” he calls again and thinks he hears a sound in response from the bathroom.

He finds Tony in the bathtub, naked from the waist up. Stripes of half-dried blood add obscene details to the scene. Rhodey’s heart stutters to a halt when he sees where it is coming from.

Tony has a cut through his eyebrow and a split lip. Worse, however, is the wound running down his forearm. Countless of self-defence lessons have taught him that wounds in that place often happen when people try to fend off attacks while guarding their head or heart.

“What did the bastard do to you?” Rhodey asks once he shakes off the shock. Two long strides take him closer to Tony, closer to the mess that is dark blood on white skin.

“Rhodey,” Tony coos and smiles, wincing when the movement tugs at the cut. “You’re home.”

Tony is drunk. He waves a bottle with his unharmed arm. It is very cheap whiskey – which is just more evidence that this has something to do with Howard. If left to his own devices, Tony is a drink snob. He only drinks cheap alcohol in rebellion against his parents. Rhodey always put that down as some weird rich kid nonsense, but it does make it easier to narrow down the root of Tony’s problems at times.

“I swear I’ll kill him,” Rhodey mutters as he crouches down, noticing how Tony stiffens, either at his words or his sudden proximity. That only stokes his anger. Why is it that Howard Stark always leaves his son a little more broken when they meet? How does he not see what a good person Tony is?

Tony raises the bottle between them, almost like a shield. “We don’t have time for homicide. We still need to finish our robotics assignment.”

This is Tony’s favoured tactic, trying to distract from the problem at hand. It does not matter that there is no ignoring his state or the blood or the hollowness of his eyes. In this, Tony is a Stark through and through, clinging to his pretences as if they are the only thing that keep him breathing.

“I’m not in the mood for jokes,” Rhodey snaps and turns around to search for their first-ais kit under the sink. “What happened?”

He does not need to look at Tony to know that his features will slacken into something bored and impersonal, that his hand will automatically bring the bottle to his lips.

“Nothing.”

Rhodey has heard that lie a thousand times but it never gets easier. One day, Tony might trust him enough to just talk to him without all the needling. Although he is not sure whether he should really look forward to that. It would make things easier, but it is also a little like leaving the closet door wide open at night in an invitation for all monsters passing by to come in and devour him.

“You’re bleeding,” Rhodey snaps and gives up his search for the kit in favour of taking a closer look at Tony.

The cuts on his forehead have already closed, although the one marring Tony’s lip will reopen at some point, judged on previous experiences. Tony has never been good at allowing himself time to heal.

The arm is a mess, but from up close Rhodey sees that it is not as bad as he feared. It is not even deep enough to show the muscles. The blood smeared all around it makes it look far more dangerous. That still does not soothe the simmering rage inside him. Tony left bloody handprints on his way here, which means he fled his parents’ hotel mindlessly, making it a miracle he even got here.

“Just a friendly argument that got a little heated,” Tony dismisses easily and pulls his arm closer to his body as if he can erase the wound just like that. “You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t know,” Rhodey replies sharply, although he does by now. “I never went home and came back seriously injured.”

The first time this happened, they had barely known each other for a month and yet Rhodey had already been prepared to go to war for Tony. It is still utterly incomprehensible to him how a parent could repeatedly hurt their own child. Unfortunately, he has sworn to never talk to anyone about it besides Tony and, well, there is no bringing Tony to his senses. If he ever had any.

“This is not serious, honey bear,” Tony says easily and smiles. There it is, the first new drop of blood out of the split lip. “You should’ve seen me when –”

Closing his eyes, Rhodey leans away from Tony. “You should not finish this sentence if you don’t want me to go pay a visit to your father right now.”

If he were lucky, he would get in a swing or two before he would be taken down and thrown in some hellhole. In moments like this, when Tony’s pain is so clearly within view, Rhodey wonders whether it would not be worth it, just to remind Howard that he can be hurt too.

“That would hardly end well,” Tony points out but sounds a little more present, a little more aware that Rhodey is only one wrong word away from doing something stupid.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Rhodey says, “Exactly.”

He hears rustling and then a hand is on his arm, holding tight as if to hold him back from running out that door. When Rhodey looks up, Tony at least did not take his injured arm but placed the whiskey bottle between his legs to free his hand.

“No, he would ruin your life, Rhodey,” Tony says, completely serious now, for once not pretending that Howard is a normal father. But then, things are always different when they are talking about Rhodey’s pain instead of his own. “Promise me you’ll never say anything to him.”

Rhodey tries to avoid making promises he will not be able to keep. “And what? You want me to just watch him hurt you?” Like he has done the entire time they have known each other, backing down like a coward because Tony keeps asking him too.

“He didn’t mean to,” Tony says as if that makes anything better. “He was wearing that ring and –” he breaks off awkwardly and points at his split lip.

Rhodey blinks, wondering whether Tony really thinks that the blood is the problem, not that Howard dared to hit him at all. Bruises are just as bad. Hell, the mere threat of a swing is. Children are supposed to feel safe with their parents. They should not be forced to find excuses for their parents’ regular fits of rage.

With a deep breath, Rhodey calms himself enough to ask, “That ring cut up your arm too?” He does not want to look at it again but does it anyway. The blood makes Tony appear so much smaller.

“No, that was a bottle,” Tony admits sheepishly then snaps up his eyes in a panic that he has said too much. He hurriedly adds, “He didn’t mean to aim for me and it wasn’t his fault I fell.”

“Tony,” Rhodey says and trails off. The churning anger inside his chest turns into sorrow. He is out of his depth here. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

The picture Rhodey has of Howard in his head is that of a real monster. Bloodshot eyes, a terribly disfigured face, spit flying from his mouth due to his constant shouting. That picture has nothing and everything to do with the immaculate business man depicted in news articles and TV interviews. An honest, brilliant man, who just turns into a beast once he steps into his own home. And Tony is caught in his thrall, unable and, most of the time, unwilling to get out.

As if Tony read his thoughts, he says, “It’s not your business, is it?” The bitterness in his voice is tangible, underlined by the smell of alcohol and blood in the air.

Just like that, Rhodey’s anger is back, crowding beneath his sternum like a living thing. “You’re my best friend and this is not the first time he’s beaten you bloody. I damn well think this is my business,” Rhodey snaps, wondering why Tony has to always make things harder for himself.

In too calm a voice, Tony says, “But you’re not family.”

The words feel like a punch to the gut and Rhodey leans away from Tony as if that could soothe the sudden pain. Silence falls between them, almost deafening in its intensity, as Tony stares at his bottle and Rhodey wonders, just for a moment, if this is worth it. If the friendship and all the brilliant hours together are worth the heartbreak.

When Rhodey started college, he was determined to live the best years of his life. To learn everything he can and find some forever friends. Rumours about the rich kid genius starting with them were already rampant when he arrived on campus and he had planned to stay out of that mess.

Fast-forward a year and here they are. For all that Tony is mostly sweet and lost, he knows how to make his words hurt, how to hit people where they are already wounded. Rhodey is not often on the receiving end of that anymore. Only, really, when Tony has been home and cannot help but lash out because he does not know what else to do with his own pain.

That is no excuse. And Rhodey is not in a forgiving mood tonight, seeing that he very much considers Tony family.

“All right,” Rhodey says in as clear a tone as he can manage. With an abrupt movement, he turns to the cabinet under the sink to search for the first-aid kit in earnest. He also does not want to look at Tony. “We still need to clean that cut. Drinking alcohol won’t help.”

In his back, he hears rustling, and then a hand lands on his shoulder. “Rhodey, I didn’t mean –”

Shrugging off the hand, Rhodey leans forward, out of Tony’s reach. “I hope you restocked the first-aid kit.”

He finds it right at the bottom, almost as if they do not regularly need it. They have another one in the lab, which is a lot fancier than this. Then again, lab accidents are normal and accepted, whereas this is not.

Rhodey still keeps his head down when he turns back around. He does not want to see Tony’s wide eyes, full of apologies he never quite knows how to put into words. He will forgive Tony, he always does. Just not right away.

“Rhodey –” Tony tries, but Rhodey cuts him off.

“Give me that bottle and rinse out that cut,” he orders while he gets out the Neosporin and rummages for band-aids.

“I’m sorry.”

In a way, Rhodey should feel flattered. Tony does not usually insist on apologizing right away, preferring to hide away first and wallow a bit. By now Rhodey knows that Tony does not mean everything he says when hurt or angry, but it is nice to see that Tony does not want to leave it hanging in the air between them. Which still does not put Rhodey into a more forgiving mood.

“What were you arguing about then?” he asks, ready to immediately draw Tony’s ire again or to wade through dismissive lies. He finds the Neosporin but waits to take Tony’s arm because he might yet get some information.

Tony takes his time to answer, and when he does, it is barely audible. “You.”

“What?” Rhodey is surprised enough that he looks up. _Him_? Why would he even be on Howard Stark’s radar. Despite his burning wish to take Tony away and keep him safe he has never made a spectacle of himself.

Tony looks right back at him, worrying his already split lip. In a flat tone, he says, “Howard said I should work on befriending some real people instead of someone who’s barely good enough to be the help.”

“I –” Rhodey swallows, unsure what to say. Instead, he reaches for Tony’s arm and begins to rinse the cut with water. His movements are methodical, just something to keep him from freezing up.

It should not come as a surprise. Rhodey’s family is black and comparatively poor. He is here on a scholarship and already has his life planned out. Joining the military might not be a dishonourable career choice but it is not prestigious either.

Perhaps it is true that Tony should associate more with people of his own world, business men and rich heirs or even other geniuses, but Tony is lost among them. It would make him sick in the long run, lonely and wounded in a world he has learned to navigate by necessity only, not because he wants to be there.

So, yes, Rhodey’s presence gives Tony options he did not have before. To be himself, to safely explore other parts of life.

“See, you’re feeling worse now,” Tony exclaims and tries to tug his arm out of Rhodey’s grasp but fails. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. He likes to say he’s not racist, and he might not have a problem with you if your family was rich, but I couldn’t let him talk shit about you like that. You’re worth at least a thousand of his sort.”

If Rhodey were petty, he would say that Tony’s own words hurt much more than anything Howard could ever spew at him. But he does not because he values Tony’s friendship and well-being more than a won argument.

“Tony,” he says and looks up long enough from his work to make Tony understand that he is completely serious. “I don’t care what your father says about me. I care about you. And if he calls me every bad name in existence, I want you to not argue but get out of there in one piece.”

Tony does not know which battles to pick. Perhaps that comes from having been ignored and trampled over most of his life, perhaps it is his missing sense of self-worth. Somehow, he has decided that Rhodey is worth fighting for, so instead of fighting just to be contrary he has made himself Rhodey’s champion almost like Rhodey has done for him.

“You always stand up for me,” Tony argues sullenly as if he has read Rhodey’s mind.

“Because,” Rhodey intones and finally lets go of Tony’s arm to look at him, “you tend to not do that for yourself.”

And why would he, having never been taught how to. For someone who expects the world to always jump at his bidding, just because of his name and money, Howard Stark has been amiss to instil that sense of worth in his own son.

Tony shrugs and winces slightly, which only worsens Rhodey’s anger because that means he likely has more bruises. “He’d ruin your life,” he says quietly, urgently in a way that shows he really is afraid of that.

Ignoring the fact that this is not something they should have to worry about – his best friend’s father being able to destroy his life on a whim – it is nice to hear that Tony really cares. Rhodey knows he does, but there are no masks here now, no pretensions of uncaring cheer. Tony is good at being what the world wants him to be, but underneath the surface he is brittle enough that Rhodey just wants to hide him away where no one can get to him.

“I’d rather he didn’t try,” Rhodey argues, forcing his tone to be lighter than he feels. “But as of yet he’s only ever hurt you. And that’s not acceptable.”

He does not expect an answer. Tony is practiced at skirting this topic, refusing to actually say that what his father is doing to him is wrong. It is just like him to be vocal about everybody else’s pains and worries but never his own.

“Give me that bottle back, would you?” Tony asks and leans back in the bathtub, avoiding Rhodey’s eyes again. It is subtle, as he pretends to inspect the cut on his arm, but Rhodey knows his mannerisms by now.

“You’ve had enough,” Rhodey says and suppresses the urge to take a sip himself. Getting drunk will not actually help.

Tony rolls his eyes, but still does not look up. “There’s never enough after dealing with dear old dad.”

One day, Rhodey will ask why Tony decided to indulge in Howard’s favourite vice when he intimately knows what alcohol turns Howard into. He just has not found the courage yet.

“You’re bleeding,” he reminds Tony as if that will be taken as an acceptable reason. “I won’t let you add alcohol into the mix.” _More_ alcohol as it is.

“But it helps with the pain,” Tony argues but does not make a move to get the bottle. Rhodey counts that as a victory.

“No. End of discussion,” he says for good measure. Then he reaches for the Neosporin and takes Tony’s arms again. The wound has stopped bleeding but looks like one wrong move will cause it to reopen. “Now, hold still. This could sting.”

He is as gentle as he can be and squeezes Tony’s hand when he does not flinch away. It is not the worst thing in the world to get alcohol rubbed in wounds and Tony has certainly had worse, but he is often sensitive about appearing weak.

“You know, you’re the only person besides Jarvis who does that,” Tony says in a conversational tone, almost detached from the matter at hand. “Warn me before, I mean.”

Rhodey does not like Jarvis. The old butler is a kind man and Tony loves him, yes, but he did not get Tony out of his abusive home life. For years he stood by and watched Tony get hurt. In Rhodey’s opinion it is not enough to soothe the bruises after the fact. He is, of course, not doing anything else, so he should probably not blame a man he has never met. But every beautiful story Tony tells about Jarvis always comes with a bitter taste for Rhodey, because it leaves him thinking that no one has ever done enough for Tony.

“I hate that enough people have done this that you have some kind of ranking for them,” Rhodey says instead of voicing these thoughts, although he cannot quite keep the sharpness out of his tone.

He picks up the band-aids and arranges them unceremoniously to cover the cut. Tiredness seeps into his bones but he does not let that show.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Tony says, sounding sheepish.

“Then perhaps use those words next time,” Rhodey points out as he turns to the smaller cut through Tony’s eyebrow.

He knows that Tony is not ungrateful. They have never spoken about this, but he thinks that thanking people, to Tony, is akin to reminding them of his weakness, his defects. And if he does that too often, people will leave. That is utter nonsense, of course, but Rhodey has not yet found an effective method to tell Tony so.

They finish up in silence, and just when Rhodey turns to tidy up the first-aid kit, Tony reaches out and touches his shoulder.

“Thank you, Rhodey,” he says with a small smile and earnest eyes.

Just as solemnly, Rhodey responds, “You’re welcome.” And he is. No matter the occasionally sharp words and heartbreak, Tony _is_ family. “Now, do you have any other wounds? Did you hit your head?”

Just like that, the magic of their serious moment dissipates and Tony is back to rolling his eyes and belying his state. 

“No.”

“Ribs okay?” Rhodey asks, going through his mental list even while he eyes Tony’s skin critically for blooming bruises.

“I think so,” Tony says and breathes in deeply as if to demonstrate his ability to do so without sudden pain.

Satisfied with that, Rhodey moves on. “Do you have a headache? Does your vision swim?” That is a tricky question, because he is often not able to verify until Tony keels over after pushing himself too hard. And he did say something about falling down earlier.

“I don’t have a concussion,” Tony dismisses easily, and Rhodey cannot glean anything from his tone.

“You said that last time,” he points out, feeling a bit helpless. With opens wounds, he can help, but everything else is a bit too much. Although he is sure that will change the longer he stays friends with Tony.

“We blew up a lab,” Tony replies with more fondness than such a memory should warrant. Then he leans forward and pokes Rhodey’s chest. “ _You_ had a concussion too.”

“And I admitted it right away, while you were lying through your teeth,” Rhodey shoots back immediately. They had been stupid and a concussion is just not something nice to deal with. Of course, he said something. To this day, he cannot understand how Tony can insist on going through all these things alone.

“I don’t like hospitals and I really didn’t have to go there just because I hit my head a little too hard.” They have had this argument a thousand times, but it is easier to fall back into it than to press Tony for how he is feeling right now. He looks better and has not tried to get the whiskey back. In Rhodey’s book, that is a victory.

“But you insisted I stay in there for a whole week,” Rhodey says as he packs up the first-aid kit and stores it back under the sink.

“That’s –” Tony begins to argue, but Rhodey cuts him off, knowing what is coming.

“If you’re going to say that’s different, don’t.” That has been a point of much frustration for Rhodey. How easily Tony deals in double standards, always hiding his own needs while basically putting Rhodey on a pedestal. “One day, I’ll get you to see that you’re allowed to treat yourself with the same care and consideration you do for your friends.”

“Well, you were always one for doomed cases,” Tony shrugs but at least does not pretend that Rhodey does not have a point. “Now, help me up, please. I want to go to bed.”

Tony does not need much help, which is an immense relief. They have come far enough in their friendship that Tony does not pretend when it is only them. If he cannot stay up on his own legs, he leans on Rhodey. If they continue that way, they will turn Tony into a fully functioning adult yet.

Still, Rhodey stays at Tony’s side and steers him, just to make sure. It is only when they are moving to Rhodey’s half of the room that Tony speaks up.

“That’s not my bed.”

“Nope,” Rhodey agrees cheerfully. “You’re sleeping here so you won’t be able to sneak out if you feel worse. Or if you decide you want to keep drinking.”

That was a hard-learned lesson, the way Tony likes to disappear instead of just asking for help. Now he knows he needs to hold on to Tony to keep him where he is supposed to be.

Tony glances up at him, thankfully not irritated. “You don’t –”

“I do,” Rhodey cuts him off, his tone still pointedly light. He will not argue about this. Or, at least, he will not _lose_ this argument.

With a huff, Tony sinks down on Rhodey’s bed. “You can’t possibly know what I was going to say.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rhodey says in all seriousness. No matter what Tony was going to say, what clever argument his head has cooked up, Rhodey promised to take care of him and he will.

As if to show he learned his earlier lesson, Tony looks up and says, “Thank you, Rhodey.”

It is a stupid thing to feel happy about, because Rhodey knows Tony is grateful even when he does not say it, but the words cause warmth to gather behind his sternum.

He nods his acceptance with a smile, but then says, “Well, you’re paying to get that bloody handprint off our wall, so we’re even.”

A year ago, he could not have said that. Even the slightest mention of him expecting Tony to pay for anything would have just caused Tony to think his fears of Rhodey being just another gold digger were true, even if Rhodey has never once asked for anything. It is good to see that Tony does not even bat an eye at his comment now.

“I will, geez.” He flops back dramatically on the bed. “You should go out more, white walls are so out.”

Rhodey laughs as he pulls the blanket over Tony, almost tucking him in. “Close your eyes, Tony. We both need to sleep.”

Well, Rhodey needs to wash up first. While his hands are clean, it does feel like Tony’s blood is sticking to them. He just needs to make sure that Tony is in bed and stays there before he dares to turn his back on him.

“All right, mama bear,” Tony says but already sounds sleepy. “I’ll happily be your little spoon.”

They have done this a hundred times before, once Rhodey made it clear that Tony does not need to pay him in physical affection either. Theirs has been a long road already. Rhodey has no illusions that it will be smooth sailing from here on, but he is proud of how far they already made it.

“Shut up,” he says fondly. “Sleep well. And wake me if you feel worse. I mean it.”

“I promise.”

Rhodey does not believe him one bit, but that hardly matters. They have a working system going on here. Tony might fight his mothering at times but they do rely on each other. Any while Rhodey could do without the excitement sometimes, he would not have it any other way. That is what family does for each other, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> And for everybody asking for another chapter/sequel for Get Off My Lawn, I'm almost done with that, so I hope to upload that next Saturday :-)


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